MTA JOY

So, the other day I got on a bus with my NYC instincts on full alert as they always are when the MTA is involved.  My radar read - angry crazy woman in the front and crazy but not so angry in the back.  I sat in the back.  A few minutes later the woman near me started to meow.  Not sweet little mewing but a full on howling.  I'm thinking I made a wrong decision so I more towards the front.  She continues her loud wails and then her phone rings.  She has a reasonable, rational conversation.  Maybe job related, there are stats stated, decisions discussed and logical pronouncements. Then she hangs up. And low and behold, the meowing commences again.  Fortunately I was not too far from my stop.  Oh the fun bus drivers must experience every day.

So, when I got to my destination I told my friend about my bus ride.  He told me about the time he was on the subway and an elderly gentleman was singing Jesse's Girl.   The elderly gentleman knew the melody, but didn't know the real words and sang some gibberish.  However he did know one line of the song, which he sang out loud and clear each time it came around and that was - "How can I find a woman like that?" Let's give this man some credit, at least he knows what he wants.

I’ve heard tell

There was a young man who lived in a small town.  His fiancé had just broken up with him.  He was very much in love with her and was bereft.  He couldn’t even fathom life without her.  There was only solution in his mind.  He would take his own life.  

There was a river that flowed through the town and a bridge over this river.  He couldn’t swim and decided if he  jumped off the bridge it would be a fast, easy death.  He came to the highest point smack in the center of the bridge.  He stayed for a few moments, mustering up all his misery to do the deed. He climbed to the top of the ledge.  Took a breath and jumped.  

As he was on his way down he came to his senses and screamed, “This is a mistaaaaaakkkkkke!”

Fortunately, this whole scene was observed by a witness, who jumped in and saved the man.   I’m not sure if the man ever got back together with his ex fiance.  But I can guarantee that this man has a renewed appreciation for life.

***
A friend was sitting on a jury.  It was deep in summer and there was no air conditioner.  There was a ceiling fan that rattled on, the defense attorney rattled on and the court stenographer clicked away.  Deep in the middle of a long droning by the defense attorney the entire court simultaneously realized that it seemed a little quiet.  The court stenographer had stopped. The judge turned to her and asked what was going on.  The stenographer pushed away her chair, took her glasses off her nose and in a deep Bronx accent said, “I’m tired.”  The judge called for a recess until the next day with an admonition for the stenographer to rest up.

Odette

I had two cats, Bobby and Odette, brother and sister.  They were tuxedo cats with exactly the same markings except Bobby was black and a bruiser and Odette was silver grey and very beautiful. They had big personalities and were quite the pair.    I wanted one kitten but was told I had to take two, so I did.  Later I found out they had a sister, Miss Ellie who was a Pygmy cat.  Does such a thing even exist?  I imagine her as a runt many times over.  If I had known about this cat, I would have taken her as well.  Absolutely. 

Bobby and Odette were very friendly, they eagerly greeted all humans who entered the apartment, following them around and doing the necessary sniffing.  If a plumber came, they were on either side of the sink, looking up at the plumber and then back towards the sink.  A friend came over once and took off his Converse sneakers, they tried to get both of their heads into same shoe, and then settled on one shoe for each little snout.

Odette was very sweet and welcomed any dog that came in, where as Bobby would patiently wait for the right moment and whack them, proving that he was the boss.  This piece is dedicated to Odette and I hope to write one about Bobby soon.  Odette was a flyer.   Out of the corner of my eye I would see a whiff of movement, and it would be Odette flying from the bookshelf to the cabinet and around the room four times over. 

Odette particularly liked to jump from the couch to the top wardrobe shelf.  This she did with grace.  Except for one night.  I was wrapping gifts on the floor and my boyfriend at the time was on the couch.  The wardrobe door was barely open.    We heard a crash.  I asked my boyfriend to check to see if she was okay.  Ahh, she’s alright.  Please, I asked.  He didn’t.  So, I did.  I opened the door to see Odette hanging on for dear life with her claws stuck deep into my woolen winter coat.  I rescued kitty from coat.  This boyfriend didn’t last.

What best exemplifies Odette is what happened one cold winter night.  Bobby passed away at too young an age, and Odette wasn’t feeling all that well herself. She would nap by the radiator so I kept a towel for her to rest on.  One night Odette was on her towel and I was on the couch watching TV.  I am stunned to see a mouse creep from behind the refrigerator and walk straight up to the blanket.  The cat looks at the mouse, the mouse looks at the cat, and then the mouse walks on the blanket up to the cat.  The cat and mouse settle in and cuddle together. 

I scream, the mouse runs away, the cat runs away.  I clean every little step the mouse took, I throw the towel away and put down a new towel.   A few minutes later the mouse comes back and takes it’s place next to Odette.  I scream and scream.  Both run away.  I clean and scrub and decide I cannot live with this mouse.   I did what I had to, to make sure the mouse was not coming back. 

I then thought – how long has this been going on?  This couldn’t have been the first time.  They must have been sharing a towel for a while.   Eek.  You can’t give a cat a bath, but I cleaned the cat as best I could.   Well, so much for natural enemies.

CLOSE ENCOUNTERS

If you live in NYC for any length of time you develop extraordinary sensory perception.  It’s a necessity.  Having a finely tuned radar system is the only way to survive.  We live too close together and travel en masse.  You must be able to figure out that this is a crazy person but no need to cross the street, this crazy person you move far away from, and don’t even make a left turn here because you don't even want to know what's going on down that street.

One day at work I had to man the fitness desk.  I was hungry and had half a sandwich with me. I went to sit at a table with a boy sitting alone.  I asked if it was okay and he nodded.  I sat eating my sandwich for a minute or so as he stared at me.  He then said, “ I have a soccer ball at home.”  I said, “wow that’s great, do you play.”  Yes, he said.  I saw a book on the table and said, are you studying mandarin?  Yes.  Could you speak it for me?  He looked me in the eyes and said, “I really can’t do that. “ He was 6 and in first grade, we talked for a bit and then I told him I had to go back to the fitness desk but if he liked he come chat with me there.  He shook his head and said, “I have to stay right here.” This young boy probably intuited that I was someone who would appreciate his ownership of a soccer ball!

I was in the brand new Target looking at the men’s pajama bottoms.  They are much nicer than the women's which are made of modal, a fabric that feels like you are wearing an oil slick.  The men’s of course are 100% cotton.  As I looked among the selections I noticed an odd creature watching me and smiling.  He then approached.  The radar said – crazy but benign, so I stayed.  He smiles and says, “I like the mens and I like the womens.  The mens I love but the womens I marry.  I said something like, “how nice for you.”  He kept smiling, paused for a few brief seconds, turned and then evaporated, to whence he came.

I was walking in the West Village close to where I live.  A hipster couple walked up to me and the man said, here this is for you as he handed me a flower.  I said thank you.  It looked as if were picked from a shrub.  I put it in a vase full of water.  A few flowers fell off but a couple grew.  Well this little little shrub is still going strong and has begun rooting.  I plan on planting it in a pot all it's own.  A random act of kindness is beginning to take root!

I was at the Lexington & 53rd Street station, whose picture is in the dictionary as an example of hell.  I saw a blind man walking to the end of the station.  There are sections where the path is so narrow; it’s scary even with sight.  I offered to help him.  He needed to get to the back of the station.  So we walked together.  It always shocks me how oblivious people are but it’s very noticeable when someone is walking with a long white cane.  I had to navigate this man around preoccupied people.  The scene changed as we walked into the subway car.  It was another world, a glorious world - people gave up their seats, everyone was kind and thoughtful.  I told this man – we just landed on the nice train!

So my wish for all is that you land on the nice train, each and every day.  And let's practice random acts of kindness.

M20 Redux

M20 Redux

So, I recently became a NYC bus rider when I realized the M20 takes me to every place I need to go to - down Seventh Avenue and back up Eight Avenue.  As everything in NYC it has a character and charm all it’s own.  Here’s what I’ve observed. 

Going Uptown.

My Favorite Bus Driver.  I met my FBD when I got on the bus behind a woman who was carrying a cup cake.  When asked why, she told FBD it was her birthday and a colleague had given it to her.  Well, he had the entire bus sing “happy birthday.”  I saw him the next day and said how nice that was.  Of course, he said, got to keep life light.  I would chat with him whenever he drove the bus.  It wasn’t until he turned toward me one time when I realized that he was very attractive.  Apparently he’s many women’s FBD.   Because I have seen various women at different bus stops hand him a bag of cooked food for his dinner and they do not even get on the bus!  His schedule has changed so I don’t see him regularly but he’s always friendly and nice – to everyone.

Middle School.   I once got on the M20 in the late afternoon and sat in a seat in the back.  At the next stop there was an implosion of Middle Schoolers.  I watched their frenetic dynamic and tried to figure out who was in what group but I didn’t get a sense of it BECAUSE EVERYONE WAS MEAN TO EVERYONE.  There was one kid who really wanted attention and was trying to be friendly to people but everyone was particularly mean to him.  I sat next to a girl who probably wasn’t on the peak of the pyramid and when she said something mean to him.  I turned to her and said quietly, be nice.  Just be nice.  I could tell she absorbed what I said.  I got off at the next stop and made a vow that if I ever got on the Middle School bus again, I would say the same thing to the entire crowd.  Not that they’d listen, but maybe one kid for a short time would absorb it.  I’m sure I would be called the crazy lady but maybe life would be a little easier for one person for a little while.

Bus apps.  There are now a few bus apps and a site online that will tell you where on the route your bus is.  I generally use this when I go uptown, and I can plan my exit from work.  However, there’s a strange phenomena.  The app and site will tell you the bus is making its way uptown and then a minute later when you refresh it, the bus will disappear. I was told it had something to do with the closeness of the World Trade Center and how signals get blocked.  I’m not sure if this is true because sometimes the bus will reappear and sometimes not.  Strange.

Going Downtown.

Tourists.  The M20 is the bus you take if you are midtown and want to go to the World Trade Center.  Apparently all of the guidebooks from every part of the world tell you to get off at Chambers Street.  This however is not the closest stop to the WTC.  In any group, the person who speaks English the best will confer with the bus driver and I hear him say Vesey and North End.  It seems time and again, they don’t quite trust the bus driver or even what they are hearing.  For they all get off at Chambers.  I’ve tried to help tourists and tell them to wait 3 more stops but to no avail.  Apparently the only trustworthy information is from their guidebooks.  Which isn’t wrong, at Chambers you have a visual of the WTC looming.   It just always makes me laugh and it never fails.

There are more stories on the M20, when they manifest I will be sure to add them. 

Ditched by a Golden Girl

       

So, I started coaching Cross Country for fourth grade girls at an Upper East Side school.  The girls are beautiful, charming, and exuberant - so much so that after that first day I lay exhausted on my couch.  I asked them what they wanted their team to be called and it was unanimous – Golden Girls.  With a chuckle I declared, so be it.  They seem unaware of the hilarity.

Yesterday, on the way to the field, one of the girls Emily (not her real name) had me laughing as she explained why she calls her new Uncle  - Turkey Butt. It was a different experience on the way back.  Emily’s best friend told her she was ditching her.  Emily cried and cried.  The other girls told me that they too had been ditched.  One girl four times, another three times.  And so on.  I was shocked, when had this become a thing?  

Yes, I had seen Mean Girls, but even in that cautionary tale, it wasn’t repetitive ditching.  This is apparently a right of passage for these very young girls.  Suddenly I remembered an incident from high school that still has me unnerved – and IT DIDN’T EVEN HAPPEN TO ME.  I WAS JUST AN OBSERVER!

Elyse and Lynn were best friends for a very long time. Although I was accepted into the triangle, I wasn’t awarded equal footing.  However, they were fun and creative and I felt more at home with them than most others in the school.  From the age of 13-16 we attended theatre school together.  Lynn and I would choreograph every bit of music we could find for hours and hours after school and Elyse and I would rehearse scripts.
   

Our junior year, Elyse and I were cast in the musical.  The very popular seniors were also cast.  And we all became friends.  For some reason they didn’t like Lynn.  They made derogatory remarks, laughed about her and so on.  Elyse ditched Lynn.  I don’t even know how it happened. 

I remained friends with Lynn and Elyse and the popular seniors.  I guess I had a different status then Elyse in High School.  I was friendly with a lot more people. And it didn't hurt that I stopped the show with a dance number in the musical.

Lynn was bereft.  I didn’t know what to say or why Elyse did it. In retrospect, I realize Elyse was a bitch.  Not in the get things done way, but in the insecure way.  She put people down to make herself feel better. I was the recipient of many of those putdowns. Perhaps Lynn was better off. 

On the way home from the track last night I told Emily she was brilliant and wonderful and tomorrow she will feel better.  I know kids grow up faster, I hadn't realized that all the crazy high school junk is now in elementary school.  When did people become disposable? 

I told the girls that it’s always better to be nice.  That nice always wins out. I hope they hear me.  It will save them many tears, for karma always wins.

Attention

By Air Force photo by Rudy Purificato [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

After reading my story about David DeFrances, a friend told me he lived next door to an older gentleman for many years.  The older gentleman was a holocaust survivor.  He had a number tattooed on his left forearm.  He showed my friend the tattoo and spoke about the horrors of the concentration camps.  He apparently had been transferred to a few different camps and spoke about the abominations of each camp.

This older gentleman became very sick and passed away.  It was then that my friend learned that the gentleman was born and raised in Ohio.  He was not in the holocaust and may have had just a smattering of Jewish blood.   The first indication his story was fraud is that the vast majority of holocaust survivors never speak about their experiences. Not even to their own families.  It’s only in their very old age that they feel they can even begin to mention it.  Some have thankfully written their memoirs, and the Shoah Project gives survivors an opportunity to come forth with their histories.

Why would anyone make up such a terrible story about himself?  The need for attention and sympathy must be so great.  How sad. 

Let’s state the truth - we are all okay, just as we are.  Always were, always will be.